Sacrifice
by TheFiresOfHope
Summary: As a Greek palace is being destroyed, the only thing that can save it is the sacrifice of a young girl. The balance is uncertain, will she fall into the abyss of Fear or can she find the wings of Courage?


**Author's Note: The main character is a complete OC invented in the spur of the moment. The location doesn't exist nor did this ever happen as far as I know. The Greeks were sometimes known for their love of war and their sacrifices, so this is what I came up with, stemming from that.**

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While the castle blows to bits she kneels on the cold stone floor. She hears the terrified screams of children and women echoing through the marble corridors as they are crushed under the rubble of the once majestic stone walls. The very foundations of the palace tremble under the force of the huge boulders hurled by the monstrous catapults. Inhumane roars fill the air as the enemy pour into the sanctuary.

There are no more menfolk, not for a long time now. So it is the old women and young girls with babies whose throats are sliced, their innocent blood that pours and paves the white marble floors red. Their blood that changes the color of the water of the beautiful fountains. Their blood that turns the choking dust and powdered rock into red-brown clay.

And still she kneels in one of the last remaining shrine rooms, high up and far away. The stone had been cut perfectly, so it is smooth and hard under her knees. Her fingers trace a streak of dusky purple in the white marble underneath her. She sighs and leans over to press her cheek against the floor. It is slightly chilled and soothing to her skin.

She hears movement in front of her, but doesn't move. The footsteps stop in front of her and then there is a rustle of fine silk as they kneel in front of her. Still, she lies as if frozen. Cool fingers tenderly stroke the side of her face. A soft, gentle hand smelling of roses presses against her jawbone. She turns her head enough to brush her lips against the palm.

"_I'm scared."_ The words are barely a murmur.

Steady hands cup her face and lift her up until she looks into glimmering ice-blue eyes. "We are all scared. To feel fear is to be alive. It is what we do in our fear that makes us who we are. "

She leans forward until she is resting against a comforting shoulder and is safely in the embrace of strong, pale arms and sleek silk cloth the color of new snow. She shifts until her ear is pressing against the base of a slender, warm neck. There, a heartbeat thumps, so strong and steady that she feels rather than hears it. She pays attention to nothing else but the powerful, rhythmic _thump thump_, until it magnifies to the point where everything is silent but that one unyielding heartbeat. All the shrieks and sobs, the earth-shattering booms and crashes, the wild war cries. All gone. Just one heartbeat that mingles then synchronizes with her own, so the mighty vibration shakes her very bones. _Thump thump._ _Thump thump._ _Thump thump._

"Tell me again." Her words are a breath on that swan-like neck. "Tell me what you once told me so long ago, when the cherry blossoms filled the air with swirling pink petals. Tell me what you said about the storm."

The voice is like water pouring into a crystal goblet. "I said, 'when the storm breaks, each person acts in accordance with their own nature. Some are dumb with terror. Some flee. Some hide'."

From this close she can hear the breath catch in the tender throat. Then, again carrying the scent of roses, another cheek, creamy and luscious as nothing in this harsh cruel world, brushes her own in a loving caress. The hushed words continue in a whisper that's a spring breeze dancing on tender new leaves.

_"And some spread their wings like eagles and soar on the wind."_

She feels herself gasp with the passion those words fill her with, just like they had many years ago. She holds the breath for a long minute, letting the sensation flow over body and fill her with a sense of quiet, iron strength. Then, she it out in a long stream of air. She lifts her chin.

"I am ready."

Lips pink as long remembered cherry blossoms curve into a lovely smile. "Then come, my beautiful brave eagle."

So she slips out of the comforting embrace and lies flat on the marble floor, hard and unyielding just like her now.

She stares up at the ceiling so high above her. It's painted a mysterious, deep blue and scattered with brilliant white stars caught mid-glitter. She feels herself falling up into them like on a current of wind and even when long, slender fingers stroke her eyes closed, she can still see them, like diamonds so radiant they are beyond the reach of any mortal. In the darkness behind her eyelids, amid the sparkling stars, is a silver moon glowing strongly if lit from within.

A sense of peace comes over her and when an obsidian knife gently slides across her neck, it's like a mother's kiss. She doesn't feel her life blood flowing from her. Instead, she feels a wind tickling her feathers as she unfurls her wings.

"_I am ready to soar."_

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**Second Author's Note: Cherry blossoms do not, as far as I know, exist in Greece. The quote 'When the storm breaks . . . 'comes from the movie Elizabeth: the Golden Age and does not belong to me.**

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